


awaiting.

by orphan_account



Series: war au's [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, Kinda, M/M, letters from the trenches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Men were not meant to sleep in trenches, love.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	awaiting.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this yesterday sort of as a birthday present to myself because fuck everything yolo 2k15. Nah but seriously, someone asked me to do WWI so I did. In my lame letter format. Ayy. 
> 
> tw; implied death u kno as shown in the archive warning thing

_'Make sure it gets to him, please?'_

__

It's all over. 

__

_'I will, Levi. Rest easy now, my friend.'_

* * *

> _
> 
> To: Eren Jäger
> 
> April 21, 1918
> 
> My Dearest, 
> 
> I have missed you these past years—longed to hold you a final time, or infinitely more as consequence would allow. Though, I find now that was not meant to be. 
> 
> And I've never been the best with my words, nor have I ever truly attempted to convey my emotion through the written text—yet I am hoping for you to understand, and graciously forgive me in my selfish reasons for doing so at this point in time. 
> 
> My friends are all dead—the comrades who I had prayed to protect in the dim light of sunset. 
> 
> They are now the ones I have failed. 
> 
> The only action I can take is to hope of any god that I will never do the same to you, as you are my everything—and seemingly the only home I've got left. And I am selfish in this letter, for reminding you of what I feel, in what I believe may be the last time. 
> 
> It's a burning knowledge in my gut, that I will not be on this earth for much beyond what is now—though I wish to kiss you, hold you, maybe propose and live in a fairy tail beneath that old oak tree in your mother's backyard. 
> 
> But, I fear that is not and has never meant to be. 
> 
> It is warm here—blistering heat. Yet, when I close my eyes I can find it within myself to pretend that the warmth is your torso pressing tight to my back, and noise of the German offensive is simply traffic outside of our New York bedroom. 
> 
> I'd like that very much. 
> 
> Though, were you here—your long fingers moving along my sides as you whisper empty reassurances into my ear till the light of early morning—I feel that I could nearly believe the shrapnel embedded in my abdomen is not any worse than bruise from when we found ourselves play wrestling the night I'd first kissed you. 
> 
> God, how I wish I were home. 
> 
> If I return, we'll purchase an old house in the country—far away from all the noise and commotion of the city. We can buy an old porch swing, just like you've always wanted. 
> 
> And then we'll rock—slowly, the fireflies filling the sky around us. That's what I find myself likening the flashes of artillery to—the squeal of men's deaths your joyous shouts in the night as the insect lands on your browned palm. 
> 
> They have been telling me gangrene breeds slow insanity. If this is mine, so be it. 
> 
> It is far better than any reality I currently face. 
> 
> Maybe we'll live ever after happily, and I'll be free to kiss you whenever I'd like. Or perhaps I am destined to die here—my skin turning dark in color, as circulation has never been the best.
> 
> I pray for the former, though each word finds me weakening. And day by day, the latter seems more likely. 
> 
> Men were not meant to sleep in trenches, love. 
> 
> They were meant their lovers, wives, flings of the night. 
> 
> Anything but this, love. 
> 
> Anything but this.
> 
> Though I know you are with me as I am here—when you are all things bright, all things right within me. You are the shining moon in a dismal night, and a crooked smile over Sunday dinner. 
> 
> As I lay dying, you are here. 
> 
> Know that you always have all of me—with every beat and rest of my heart, till the end of time. 
> 
> Always yours, 
> 
> Levi Ackerman
> 
> post script—Eren, be happy.
> 
> . . . 
> 
> post post script—My name is Commander Erwin Smith. Levi Ackerman asked me to send this in the case of his death. I apologize for your loss—he was a brave man, and an even better friend.
> 
> _

* * *

_'Eren, are you alright?'_

His eyes are a deluge. 

And he can't breathe. 

_'He's gone, Armin.'_  


**Author's Note:**

> Like 90% of people with injuries to their abdomen developed infections and died or something. I think it's upwards of that though, idk. Also thinking about making this a series like crooked handwriting bc swag.


End file.
